Silver Whispers
by FishbowlFrenzy
Summary: A fallen god who can't accept his defeat, who craves validation and servitude. A lost mortal stuck in a world with so many choices and so many wrong answers. What happens when who you are meant to be...isn't who you want to be? LokiXOC
1. Prologue

Silver Whispers - Prologue

* * *

The earth burned. Great clouds of smoke billowed upwards from the streets of one of our once great cities. I'm not sure now which it is, so scarred and ravaged that even its inhabitance wouldn't know it if they stood where I stand. With its remains sprawling out beneath me like a great ugly map.

besides, I had seen so many fallen cities in the last few days...they all looked the same to me now.

The thick blackness didn't even have the decency to hinder my view, not even for a moment. I suspect this is my _noble_ husbands doing. Watching the mortal world burn was just another gift to his lovely mortal bride.

He had promised the people would sing for me, that I would be a beacon for them, a Goddess. yes, a goddess of death...a beacon towards which they would send their anger and hatred-filled cries as they watch their children starve.

And the whole world cries. It is the song that plays when i lay down to sleep, or wake in the morning and to the man...the monster...who comes to me in the darkness to play husband and wife it is the sweetest of sounds, the most exquisite of symphonies.

I listen. I watch. I play.

what else can I do, thous who would avenge this world are lost, my 'false' god bound and it is my complacency that keeps their lungs filling with air, their hearts beating.

And so I play every night, close my eyes and pretend its him.

And so I watch every day, eyes trained towards the horizon.

And so I listen every moment, filling my soul with the sound and try desperately to stay human.

* * *

Hello! its been a while since i've written anything so sorry if im rusty. Tell me what you think? Should i keep writing in 1st person or should i switch to 3rd? should i stop writing right now and scrap the whole thing? reviews are love!


	2. Chapter 1

It had been a slow day at the museum. A few randoms had wandered though the echoing halls, mostly students from the university or the more intellectual tourist who had come to escape the winter chills of their homes for the warmer beaches of California. The receptionist stared lazily out the glass doors as the janitor moped the marble floor. A repair man fixed a light on the ornate chandelier as his buddy held the ladder. Deep below in the maze of catacombs that criss crossed the buildings foundations the curator had a small meeting with his team to discuss ideas for the next exhibit, a few grad students chatted with an Egyptologist and the restoration team finished the final touches on a 300 year old painting. In all the most exiting thing that happen that day was a research assistant almost spilled coffee on 2000 year old manuscripts but missed and burned his hand.

Then the clock struck 6. The receptionist was replaced, the bucket and mop put back and the light shining. The main hall filled with chatter and laughter as mothers and fathers, teachers and babysitters all greeted each other. Molly was congratulated on the new car and Jake on the new baby. Dani and Christie exchanged gossip and hair tips while there husbands struggled to keep the children in check. Some complained about the time or the weather, others about the crowd but they all made there way passed ancient thrones and long dead dinosaurs to the room in the very back.

It was large and circular. The walls where decorated with furs and banners. Axes and swords hung over empty, blackened fireplaces. They settled down on long curved benches of worn wood, the smaller children in the front, closest to a huge wooden stage. Atop the stage was what the crowd had come to see. What these mothers and fathers, teachers and babysitters had been dragged to one evening and looked forward to every week. A single chest, huge and impressive with metal binders and a large brass lock...and a small woman, no older then 30, who smiled sweetly and waved brightly as they entered.

Dr. Raina Rider gazed out at her audience, ever inch of the delight on her face pure and true. It was times like this she loved her job. Any other hour of any other day she was just another Doctor of Anthropology, shuffling though books and arguing over findings. She was an archeologist by profession, specializing on northern European history and lore. For the last 2 year she had been shut up in the hot streets of Los Angeles, away from the frigid cold and icy wonder of the far north, by a lack of funding and a need for a steady job. Now she served as a consultant and a resource for the Museum, holding on to the hope that she would be able to turn in her sun dresses for a good fur coat, the sand shores for frozen coasts.

And ever Thursday evening at 6:15 till 7 that was exactly what she was able to do. The segment was called 'Tales of the North' and was one of the many interpretive exhibits the museum offered. For 45 mins the audience was carried though one or two of the Northerners many folk tales. Raina stepped in to the shoes of goddesses and monsters, mortals and madmen. She fought beside gods and won battles or was carried away into Valhalla with honor. She dined in Asgard or perished in great clashes of good and evil. Though many of the stories where dumbed down for the younger children it had become a spectacle and on a good day they had to add seating to the back to make sure everyone was accommodated.

Today the audience was big, but didn't quite fill the whole hall as some of the outer and back seats where open. Despite this, as she began her story, wearing the regal yet earthly gowned of the goddess Sif, she noticed a single man standing in the shadows of the hall, just behind the last row of seats. He was tall and thin, though to far away to make out his face. Throughout the story he simply stood, never sitting or moving. Just watching.

Though she was dressed as Sif the story was truly about the trickster god Loki. She charmed and entertained her viewers with his mischief as he cut off all of the lovely lady's blond locks before being confronted by her husband, the thunder god Thor. In repentance Loki has a headdress forged by the dwarves to replace her hair, along with 5 other gifts, including the mighty hammer, Mjollnir. She finished her story as she always did, warning them to head the words she spoke and inviting them to leave a coin or two in the offering plate to appease the gods and allow another story telling to happen next week. A few people would wonder up and ask her questions about the story or herself then meander off into the night or the other halls of the museum until closing-time in an hour.

So used to this ritual was the doctor that she didn't notice the shadowed figure as he made his way along the side isle, silent as a ghost, and jumped at the sound of his slow, almost sarcastic clap.

"What a marvelous performance." The man smiled, his green eyes twinkling in the flicker of the fake torch lights. His voice held an accent, perhaps english, but not quite placeable...very pleasant and smooth. His clothes spoke of wealth, black slacks and a well pressed green shirt, and their was an air of import about him. He wasn't looking at her when he spoke, but gazed lazily about the room. For a moment she didn't realize he was talking to her...but then again there was not a soul left in the hall except for them.

"Thanks." She smiled, remembering herself. "I'm here every Thursday, same time."

"Are you now?" He turned his gaze on her, a lazy smile playing on his handsome face. He was pale, not a local, with a innocent smile and dark eyes. His hair was black as raven feathers and slicked back, a look that she normally found sleazy but became him quite well. "Is it the same story every time?"

"No, i try and have a new show every week." She laughed, "Keeps people coming back."

"And money in your coffers."

"Yeah well, museums don't run on wishes and stories unfortunately."

"and are they true?" His question surprised her. "Are these tales true or just stories told to children for there entertainment."

"I...don't know." She replied, unsure of where this conversation was going. They were myths and legends told hundreds of years ago...she had never considered them to be fact.

"So is Loki not just a trickster?" He's voice was calm...but colder. "just someone for the mighty Thor to push around and who goes running to right his wrongs as soon as the thunder god so much as whispers?"

"Well...he's the Norse God of mischief and lies, husband of Sigyn, father of Hel, the wolf Fenrir, the world snake Jormungandr, mother of...the eight legged horse...um...Sleipnir..." She trailed off, the words frozen by the ice that had crept into this strangers eyes. He turned away, obviously disappointed. Her heart sank and the dark dread of someone who had failed crawled into her stomach. As a performer and a people pleaser she couldn't let him leave unhappy. "But thous are just legends. There are more recent tale of someone by the name Loki."

The man paused, half turning.

"About a year ago, in manhattan. Things got covered up pretty quick...but some say the real enemy of the Avengers was the God Loki, that he was the one who commanded the army of aliens." He turned, catching her gaze. His face was eager and eyes hungry, as if her words where nourishment he desperately needed. "The brother of Thor, sought to subjugate the human race...but was barley defeated by the Avengers."

"Barley." He whispered the word like it was the name of a lover. He stepped closer to her, "And you think he could have won?"

"The battle...yes." she fidgeted as a wave of uncertainty washed over her. "But not the war."

"Why not?" He demanded, taking another step till he towered over her.

"You cant take the earth in one big battle..." She murmured, peering up at him. "Human nature doesn't work like that."

"And how does it work?" Cold again.

"Its got to be a dance...a trick. One big Con." she sighed, stepping away and beginning to put away her props again. He sat down one of the the benches and watched her. "you have to make them think your a hero. Make them think you have saved them from something. Loki came in, guns blazing and talking about slavery. Things humanity has branded as bad, evil and dark this day and age. Humans will alway try and kill what they fear, even if it cause them more pain. If you want to control them, make them fear bit and pieces, the abstract. Colors, sounds, and ideas. Most of all, make them fear the thought of life without you...they will do just about anything to..." She trailed off, a shiver down her spine cutting off the words.

"But you think Loki could have done it?" his voice had changed, darker...deeper...closer. She froze, unable to move.

"If he is who he claimed to be...if he is truly a go-." her hand trembled, thinking better of her statement. "Yes."

Suddenly she could breath again. Turning she was greeted with an empty hall.

"Um..." Her stomach twisted with foreboding for a moment before she shook her head. "Get a grip Rider." She muttered, and yawned. Suddenly desperately tired she locked up her chest and walked out just as the lights began to dim, signaling closing time.

* * *

Well...chapter 1! what do you think? This is about how long each chapter will be...sorry they are so short. I would love some feedback!


End file.
